See You on the Other Side
by PotterheadAmeliaPond711
Summary: Five months after Sherlock's "death", John begins to accept the truth that he had so long denied and finds it impossible to live separated from the detective. { This is a hurt/comfort fic.
1. Chapter 1

**{AN: Hello! This is yet another Fanfic I have written for a friend of mine. If you look at the cover picture thingy, you can see where I found the inspiration for this fic, and you will be experiencing many feels. I believe it is a very beautiful piece of fan art, and give the artist credit, for I am writing fanfiction to their creation. This first chapter is very short. Chapter two should be longer.. I think. I hope. Whatever, you've stopped reading at this point I just hope you enjoy XD} **

**A Very Short Chapter 1 **

****John sat with his back slouched against the old armchair in complete darkness, eyes staring into the fireplace that held smoking ashes from the past burning fire. It had been five months since Sherlock Holmes had fell from the building in London. Five months since John had been able to have a proper night of sleep. Five months since John had been able to feel any essence of happiness or hope. It was over, he wasn't coming back. Sherlock Holmes was _dead_, and what had he done to prevent it? Just watched. He watched him die.

"_He's my friend, let me through!"_

__The memories reenacted in his mind constantly, and despite the therapy he had attended in hope of helping him through the loss of such a special and important person in his life, nothing could ever bring him back. That was all he wanted.  
He was a wreck, John was, a complete _mess_. His hair was unkempt and his eyes looked utterly exhausted along with the rest of his features. The repeated thoughts of hearing his name_ 'John'_ be spoken through Sherlock's lips in that stern, deep tone made the war doctor only long more. He needed to hear him again, just to see him would suffice for the 160 days he had managed through without the consulting detective.

There he sat, not a muscle moving except for his eyes that read over the past text messages he had sent to Sherlock over time, obviously without any response. They had all been delivered after the incident.

_Sherlock... One more. Just one more miracle for me, Sherlock. -JW_

_This is not real. It never happened. Come home. -JW_

__He pushed his thumb up the screen to read further:

_No one can ever convince me that you were a fake, Sherlock. I believe in you. And I know you are still out there. -JW_

_Just come home... -JW_

__His eyes began to gleam with the hint of tears as he continued:

_Things are not the same anymore. I'm not sure how long I can handle this. -JW_

_Just give me a sign. Anything. -JW_

__John blinked as he sighed shakily and moved both hands to the keypad to type, a single set of tears slipping down his cheeks:

_It has been nearly six months, Sherlock Holmes. This is tearing me apart. I will have to fully accept that you are now gone, and I can not change that. All I wish is that I could be with you now... I wish I could have saved you. I was your friend, and I am sorry. But if you cannot come back to me, then I will come to you. I can't go through this torture of living without you any more. -JW_

__John Watson hesitated before clicking send and swallowing, allowing the phone to drop into his lap as he reached over for the gleaming pistol resting on the table beside him. It was silent. He raised the barrel to his temple and slowly closed his eyes before taking a deep breath, one finger resting to the trigger. This was it. He would finally be with him again. He could tell Sherlock of all the things he had held back for so long, and they could be _together_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

****A soft ringing seemed to fill the room with how quiet the place was, all simple actions put to a halt. His breath was held, and his eyes were closed. '_It's simple_,' he thought. '_Just pull the trigger.' _John's fingertip squeezed the black trigger slowly, mind fully set and prepared for the shot that was soon to come. '_For Sherlock_. _For my friend.' _

__And that was the last thought that came to his brain before it happened. Before he heard the click... Of a light switch in the corridor behind him turn up. The muscles in John's hand froze along with the trigger that was pulled halfway to his fate. He stood facing the black and white designed wall with the old spray painted smiley face full of bullet holes from Sherlock, yellow light spilling into the room from the hallway behind him. No one spoke. Mrs. Hudson was not home, and John would have heard her enter the door if she had arrived early. He dared to open his brown eyes slowly, hand instantly going loose and dropping the silver gun wrapped in his fingers with a buckling clank of it colliding with the floor once he saw the shadow casted on the wall in front of him coming from who was standing behind. A perfect silhouette of the curly, tousled locks for hair and his broad set shoulders, not to mention the turned up collar he could spot out clearly that was slightly bulged on the sides which only meant the man could have been wearing a scarf.

"Sherlock..." He choked out hoarsely, unable to move where he was standing to even see if it was true. Still, the man did not speak. The shadow seemed to grow larger as the sound of proceeding footsteps broke the quiet atmosphere and Sherlock stepped up to John, hands placed in his pockets as he spoke to him over his shoulder in his usual deep tone the doctor had missed so much.

"...Sorry." Was the only thing Sherlock could manage to say, or even think up. So many questions and needed explanations shot through John's brain at that moment. Could he have killed himself, and he was with Sherlock now? That had to be it... Despite the overpowering urge to begin firing off with questions, John kept his mouth closed. He was still taking everything in. Slowly, one of Sherlock's pale hands raised to rest lightly on John's shoulder, squeezing lightly to make sure he was actually there himself. John hadn't been the only one who felt the dark emptiness of the others absence. Except for in Sherlock's situation, he knew John had been alive and safe. John had to live with thinking his best friend was dead, and Sherlock knew what he had put him through. The bloke just attempted to kill himself for god's sake! He never wanted it to go that far...

John found the strength to pick up his feet and slowly turn around to face the taller, dark haired man, cheeks tear stained and eyes hurt as they widened. "You.. You bleeding _bastard!_" John shouted before quickly bringing his arms around Sherlock's middle tightly, fingers twisting into the back of his trench coat as he hid his face in the others maroon button down shirt. Sherlock squeezed his eyes closed and sighed as he wrapped his arms around John's shoulders slowly, chin resting down on top of his sandy blonde hair. Neither of them felt the urge to pull away from the other, so they stayed in that position, arms wrapped all around one another and their bodies pressed close.


End file.
